


Brave Enough

by Sinsrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Chronic Pain, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Trauma, Permanent Injury, Physical Abuse, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Abuse, bucky is a bit of a slut later on, gymnast! bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinsrose/pseuds/Sinsrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a gift to a friend. </p><p>   Gymnastic + Bucky Barnes, do I really need to explain more? </p><p> </p><p>    But the fear is clear as the day and there. It’s there by the way he moves. The way he falls into movements that he’s done over and over again. And he can feel the way that pain shoots up his shoulder when he grabs ahold and moves. He ignores- he ignores. Oh god. Just breathe. You can do this. The pain is nothing. You’ve had worse. He closes his body letting it fall into movements, and prays that he doesn’t screw up. That he isn’t taking back bronze this year. And his shoulder burns but he carries on. He carries on because he doesn’t get that luxury that choice because he had been raised into this. </p><p>He had been built to bring home gold. That’s all they saw with him. And he doesn’t feel his own movements. The way that he bends and moves and uses his arms. The pain is what keeps him focused and it’s real and it hurts and it had been his fault years ago for pushing himself. But he doesn’t dare say that. James breathes out midair feeling his fingers for only seconds grasping at the metal holding him upright. And he breathes and he breathes, and he bites his tongue to keep from screaming at the onset of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at feltpure.tumblr.com

   Breathe in. Breathe out. Exhale. Feel the weight of breath.  It’s a matter of circumstances the way that he got this far. The gasp of breath, the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s a deafening cry. The way that the crowd watches with this mixed anticipation. It’s the way that people cheer, the way that they scream knowing that something they have a passion for has won. That’s all that really matters. The passion, that fire that collects and makes you wiling, makes you want to do this.   
  
He breathes out. The air tastes stale to him.  It’s moments like this that he focuses. That the world seems like nothing but a shadow. A mere echo. And his goal is just before him. He’s been doing this for as long as he can remember. As soon as he discovered that he was able to move and bend and hold his balance the way he does. He breathes for moments for like this. It had been a long road. Longer than most would believe for him.   
  
        He’s been pushing himself. Beating his body to the point of exhaustion. To the point where tired isn’t just tired, it’s a state of mind. Where mending his body or attempting to mend the damage can only go so far. He can only push and pull so far. He can only ignore the pain that is from his body for so long. He’s determined to not let it get the better of him. He focuses on the win, the routine that he’s gone over and over again.  
  
    But the fear is clear as the day and there. It’s there by the way he moves. The way he falls into movements that he’s done over and over again. And he can feel the way that pain shoots up his shoulder when he grabs ahold and moves. He ignores- he ignores. _Oh god. Just breathe. You can do this. The pain is nothing. You’ve had worse._ He closes his body letting it fall into movements, and prays that he doesn’t screw up. That he isn’t taking back _bronze_ this year. And his shoulder burns but he carries on. He carries on because he doesn’t get that luxury that choice because he had been raised into this.   
  
He had been built to bring home gold. That’s all they saw with him. And he doesn’t feel his own movements. The way that he bends and moves and uses his arms. The pain is what keeps him focused and it’s real and it hurts and it had been his fault years ago for pushing himself. But he doesn’t dare say that. James breathes out midair feeling his fingers for only seconds grasping at the metal holding him upright. And he breathes and he breathes, and he bites his _tongue_ to keep from screaming at the onset of pain.   
  
  
      He still hates himself for all those years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been an accident really. It had been a stroke of luck that he had even found out that he had been gifted in bending and moving like he did. James had been sixteen at the time. He had been with Natasha, she had been more into the gymnastics than he had, that and her ballet. She was fluid and graceful and made it look so easy. She had fallen into it so easily.  He had been with her watching one of her classes. Watching how they were learning flips and among other things. James had watched the movements, mostly watching her. It wasn’t like he had a crush on her or anything. She was just a really good friend and it got him out of the house.

 

It had been one of the more advanced classes he had been watching. Natasha had talked to him on how she wanted to go into the nationals, see if she could get somewhere. He had told her that she’d do great. She’d always been fluid and able to move. She knew her worth. But standing here watching her, James’s fingers itched at his sides. He watches the way they move, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t come here later on and try things on his own.  Once or twice he has, he’s caught the eye of a few. Zemo had been one the males running for nationals that had seen him one day when other had left doing movements that had mirrored Natasha’s.   
  
     He’d been offered to join. Join one of the groups for the nationals. Zemo had said that the coach would have seen the potential he had, would have seen how much that could be used. How much that could be made into someone that could win. James wasn’t really the type for winning but he also knows it’d would give them something to be proud of. He brushes his hair back from his eyes, watching her still. Watching her movements, committing them to memory. It’s like a dance to him really, the way that the routines fall into place.

 

     It takes him three years. And when he’s nineteen, it’s a passion that flames when he hits the mats from a backflip the first time around. It’s a rhythm that he finds. That he adores, that he finds a passion in, and he finds it oddly comforting the way that his body moves, the way that he’s able to bend. Three years before he starts giving his life away to train for a goal.

 

   Alexander prides him. He gloats. He can see it in the man’s eyes. The moment that James had walked in, he could see it in the man’s eyes. It was like a vulture attacking, if anyone had seen the way that the older man had looked at him. Alexander had pushed him. He had pushed at the boy to take on more than he could really handle. Not that James had objected. He had fallen into the routines. He had fallen into making himself fit for how others saw him. He had taken it upon himself to make it to nationals.   
  
  And he realized much later how corrupt things were. There was so much that he had been prided on, that when he failed, it was a reality that was bitter and cold. James lost connections with people, he became isolated. If the scorings weren’t right, things happened. Alexander pushed him to the point of his body was exhausted but James pushed further knowing that it had to be done. Mind over matter. You don’t let your body win. But like everything it takes time.   
  
James had learned to work within the system he was given. Within five years he’d gotten into what was nationals and higher. But everything had a cost. Everything had a cost and not everything was pretty. The number of failed scores prior had left marks across his skin. He’d been slapped numerous times for not getting high enough marks. He’d been blackmailed saying his family would go backrupt or even something might happen to them. The letters stopped going to them, the abuse never really stopped.

 

Along his team he was considered perfect. He was considered Alexander’s lap dog. On the inside James’s nerves were fried. He was biting the end of his fingernails off, trying not to scream or yell every time his scores were off by a fraction. The nationals tonight were killing him; they were going to be the death of him. And standing here in-between events was no better. Because low scores meant a slap the face, harder training, pushing him to the limits. But this is what he had thrown himself into willingly. It was worth it by the end, knowing that he’d get somewhere. Knowing that he’d have a chance at the gold. So he pushed until his bones ached, he was still young.  
  
  
    Nothing was going to kill him yet.


	3. Chapter 3

     “You going soft or something? Those numbers were so low, _Barnes_.”

 

   “Rich coming from a guy that sucked Alexander’s dick to go home.”

 

It’s a low blow. Everyone in the locker room knows it. Their coach isn’t here. They don’t talk about what goes on. He’s seen enough, heard enough that he knows. Everyone on this team has a record of something. It’s the reason none of them really go back home. There’s too many strings that can be pulled. James has a fairly clean record, few hits to the face nothing he can’t explain, saying he fell or practiced too hard. But the team has seen him get slapped by Alexander, once or twice. And it leaves his face stained red and not wanting to talk to anyone and just push himself for the rest of the night or day.

 

Brock gives him a nasty look. Mouth turning into a grimace. “Least I don’t cry like a bitch when my scores aren’t perfect.” He’s full of shit. His scores are good in certain areas were others are weak, it’s the reason Pierce likes him. Pierce just wants to push James harder than anyone on the team. Because he knows that James can win, that he’s good at everything and knows how James watches other people and takes from them and tries to mirror movements.

James scowls at the other.   
  
Calloused fingers throwing a ball back and forth between them as if to get rid of stress. Like he’ll ever get rid of that.  “Takes one to know one.” He retorts back, leaning against his locker. He’s irritated, Rumlow’s been bitching since the last event because his scores were shitty. He bitches more than James honestly. James may get angry but it’s only because Pierce gets so pissed when he doesn’t meet the good scores. Not to mention the amount he puts in, he shouldn’t be making errors like this idiot has. Rumlow had only been on this team for a year.  James and Zemo are the two that have been working the longest with Alexander and Rumlow acts like he’s some sort of lapdog for the man, really it’s sickening.

 

Brock rolls his eyes. “Just don’t get all weepy if you fucked up again.”

 

   James grits his teeth and ignores him. Fingers throwing the ball back and forth in his fingers watching the scoring. He bites his lip slightly. He’s in the clear so far. All good scores, one is a few points down, but nothing he can’t work on. He knows his legs had been shaking at one point. They’re in the clear this time around. Thank god. The team around him also seems to be more at ease for once, more celebration because they made it in. They’ve pushed past what they needed to get into the Olympics, but this also means vigorous training. James is only twenty, and at twenty-four he’ll be competing for gold. 

 

   They still need to keep in shape. But right now he can hear most of the guys laughing and yelling about their win and James’s. James figures that around when the mood is good, is when he should ask for a trip back home. He owes Natasha a visit not to mention his sister and his parents. And he’s kept up with everything that Alexander has asked from him. At least as far as he knows. He drops the ball and pulls his hair back with a tie, a soft exhale leaving lungs.

 

    His nerves are shot. They’re always on the edge. They always are. After all this work, you’d think that he’d relax. He doesn’t. He almost never does. Because he works, and works and works. He has to make sure that he nails everything he does. It’s like some type of bad perfectionism. With the way that he pushes and pushes and pushes himself. It’s amazing really how far he’ll go. He swallows for another moment, before his fingers are reaching for his bag.     
  
  
  “I’ll catch you guys later.”  He mutters to the others. Mostly Zemo and Rumlow. He’s been living with them for the last three years. Zemo’s not so bad. Brock can be a bitch depending on the day but they all function pretty well. They’re all out of the apartment at one point in the day. And sometimes one of them is in the apartment, depends on the day, depends how far the coach wants to push any of them. It all depends on that. But home is so far from where they are, at least where James is from.   
  
He had been picked up from a town called Shadrinsk, it’s smaller than St. Petersburg that he lives in now. But they also have traveled to Moscow for things like nationals. It had been a four-hour train ride into Moscow but it’s one that he’s used to doing. Not to mention the teammates he lives with, they’re the lucky ones. The rest of the team tends to come from places much further. Zemo had offered James a place to stay knowing how involved he was into the sport. Not to mention, most of the rent is paid or is helped paid by Pierce which is another reason that James hardly ever leaves St. Petersburg. The money that he does get from the small sidejob he does have is enough that it pays for a phone bill that he has and food for the three of them in the apartment.

    James came from a family that was small knit in Shadrinsk. His family consisted of his mother (Winifred C. Barnes) and then his father (George M. Barnes) and then his younger sister Rebecca, and then himself (James Buchanan Barnes). And that was that really, they were just a soft spoken and quiet family. And James missed it honestly, he did miss his family and the small town he was from. There was always so many people in St. Petersburg it was suffocating sometimes.    
  
But he hasn’t been home since he was nineteen. It’s been almost two years to be exact. If he waits any longer that is. Not that he minds, but he hasn’t written any letters between the training he’s been put under and how busy he’s been. Alexander believes it distracts him. It doesn’t, James knows he doesn’t but it doesn’t make a difference really with what he says. It’s not like he can really afford to send letters or go out to see them anyway.   
  
Back to the goal at mind. _Finding_ Alexander.  He’s carrying his bag on his shoulders, the most that’s in it is his passport, some ID’s and some rubles. Enough to get by honestly. Alexander had told him if his scores fair well enough he’d be able to spend at least two weeks down in Shadrinsk before having to come back and then train for the next four years.  That was the problem, he may have gotten in but the next set of games wasn’t until four years from now, but he’d be working towards this for about two years and had applied prior. Considering you needed six years before a set of games, he had just if not improved his scores over the years compared to when he first started. Made him look better.

 

He stares at his calloused hands for a moment before wandering out of the locker room. It’s not that hard to find his coach. But not being rude is another thing coming for him. James tends to get a little annoyed when he has to speak to the man, that or he’s shot down before he can even open his mouth. Which makes him just walk away and just head back to St. Petersburg like he had intended to in the first place, most of the time anyway. None the less he comes before the man, whose looking at him like as snake ready to strike at him. He was talking to someone, so James waits. He always waits doesn’t interrupt doesn’t get him anyway. Knows that it doesn’t.   
  
         His voice just about almost dies in his throat when he goes to speak. James tends to get anxious when talking to the man, he gets too anxious, he hates it. It’s those nerves that just tell him, he’s not going home. That his scoring wasn’t enough. That he hadn’t worked hard enough. It’s always a thought that echoes in his head. It’s always there and lingering and god. God he hates it. He almost looks down and he shifts his body for a moment.  Body movement showing he’s clearly on the edge or uncomfortable.   
  
 “Did it meet what you were hoping for?”    
  
His voice is quiet. It’s on the edge. He’s jumpy. God, Brock’s right, he freaks when he doesn’t meet what Alexander wants. He’s used to how the man works; he doesn’t protest anything. It’s become normal, the fact that he never sees his family. It’s normal that he traded in his best friend back home for two teammates that may act like they’re close to him but they aren’t. They really aren’t. They just deal with him because they have to. And he’s standing here on the edge. He’s standing here and he’s not looking the man in the eyes. When has he ever been able to look his coach in the eyes. What irony. Most of the team calls him Pierce’s bitch. That’s being light. Considering, if Pierce doesn’t like what he does, doesn’t like his scores he keeps him overnight training most of the time till James either A collapses or B gets it right. One of these days pushing himself like he does is going to end up hurting him more than helping him.

 

     “You still could have done better.”  
  
He feels like he wants to throw up. He feels like those words just punched him. After everything, after near perfect scoring for today, he says _that_. He tells James that he could do better. That it wasn’t enough. James doesn’t know if he wants to scream or punch something. He has punched a glass mirror before when he hadn’t gotten good enough scores. James has hurt himself before, not to mention passed out from exhaustion just to get his scores this good. He’s beaten his body to hell. His throat feels dry when he speaks, he feels winded.

 

                    “You said.” He pauses trying to find his voice. It’s never easy for him to talk, it’s never easy for him to speak. It’s never easy when this man is looking at him the way he does. Like a snake ready to bite him. His eyes a hardened gaze at him and James wants to curl into his skin and just disappear if he could honestly.  “You said if I got high enough scores, I could go home for two weeks.” His voice cracks somewhere saying home.   
  
       He just wants to see everyone there. He wants to go back. He wants the crawling of his skin to stop. He wants to stop having to meet perfection for once, but inside he knows. James knows that he’s okay with it, that he can always improve. That he’s always going to work to erase failure. The Russian exhales another unsteady breath. Fingers twitching at his sides. Things are better said in his head than outloud and Pierce could make his life more than a living hell if he felt like it right now.

 

    “If you got high enough scores, which you did. But I can still you struggling, you still aren’t doing well enough. However, I’ll give you a week. Because we have four years don’t we James?” That expression on his face, on Alexander’s face makes his skin crawl. He hates it, he knows the man loves the fact that he can push him for four years. Knows it.

 

When he takes the rubles into his fingers, he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say thank you. Because a week, a week home isn’t enough. Isn’t enough to erase the last two years, but it’s enough that James can find some sort of comfort seeing his family. Some sort of peace of mind, when everything in him knows he’s going to be pushed for the next four years once he gets back into St. Petersburg.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s easier to act like a ghost than actually see the people that you left. It’s easier to live your own life and not have to worry about other people. But then you remember that people do care about you and that world you’ve been living in sorta crashes down. For James living in the world of a gy

mnast is vastly different than the life he lived when he had been growing up with his family. And to be frank, he doesn’t go back to his family right away. It takes him about a day as it is to get back to the small town where he’s from and that’s via train. And by the time he gets there he’s exhausted, he’s drained and just wants to curl up and sleep. So he ends up finding Natasha’s apartment. It’s easier, and there’s less questions asked. Well not less, but he’s managed to write he letters more often than his own family. Though the last one sent was dated about three months ago.   
  
So when he ends up at her place. It’s not really too much of a surprise. And she looks just as tired as him, but she’s tiny. And she’s still working her ass off herself doing the same thing James does expect her coach is less of a prick and helps her, despite the fact she’s worked two jobs besides doing her own thing like him. He settles on her couch, his head on her lap. A habit they’ve had for as long as he can remember. They’ve always been this close.   
  
  They’ve done the whole sleeping with one another thing. They’ve done it back when James had been around sixteen. It had been nothing complicated, no hard feelings. Yeah they cared for one another but they weren’t in love with one another. It was just a really close knit friendship they had and trusted one another. Which explains why his head is on her lap, the way that her fingers are brushing through his hair and he’s got his eyes closed listening to what he can of her heartbeat.   

 

It’s the only real thing that matters right now. The way that her fingers rank through his hair. The way that she falls beside him. The way that they can just breathe around one another. He lets out a breath looking upwards at her celling.  “How long did he give you?” Her voice is gentle; it always has been towards him. It’s never been harsh or cruel.   
  
   “A week, he’s not like Ivan.”   
  
 Ivan, her coach was a lot less harsh. He had his moments where he pushed Natasha but she got more praise than anything. He knew what she was good at and focused on that. Their team was balanced that way; Natasha was only going for a certain area. They had gotten in too, so he’d see her considering all the Russian teams worked as one come the huge win. He’s still looking at the celling, and she’s rubbing small circles on his neck.    
  
“The others, do they ever even seen their families?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of, I think Zemo does. But Brock never mentions anyone.” His voice is quiet, he sounds tired. You can hear the exhaustion in his tone, you can hear the way he’s just not really awake, or is it that? It could just be mental tiredness. A one that leaves you bone exhausted, not that he can sleep anyway.   
  
  “I keep thinking, Nat that I’m going to screw up.”

That he’s going to screw up. That he’s going to fuck up and mess everyone up. He knows it, he knows that he’s going to do something wrong. He just hast this feeling in his veins, this nasty feeling. But he’s been ignoring it. Ignoring it when he’s been practicing, ignoring it and hoping it’s just a bad feeling in his veins that will go away. He’s hoping that it won’t stay but who knows. Who really knows. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling her press into the pressure point in his shoulder blade. Relaxing him for once, a brief flutter of movements. He stills against her, feeling the way she gets tension out of his bones and muscles. She’s always been good at this. 

 

   “You won’t James, you’ve got this. You’ve always been good at this.” She says to him, fingers dipping right back into the point, feeling the way that he relaxes. Feeling the way that he settles with his head in her lap. “Your muscles in your shoulder are tense, you stretch right?” She presses her fingers deeper into the skin and he groans slightly feeling the way she rubs at the muscle.

 

“Yeah, Alexander would kill me if I injured myself.” It’s not even a joke. If an injury happened, he knows how that man would react. Not to mention he’d brush it over and tell James to move forward, no matter what type of pain he was going through. He knows how his coach is, and it’s kinda not exactly healthy that he puts up with the way that man is. Honestly. “I was just training a lot over the last two months.”

 

  “How much?” She presses at the muscle and the noise that escapes him sounds like a low moan when she works out a knot. She nudges him up so he can lay on the couch. Her fingers pulling up his shirt exposing muscled flesh from years of work. She has every intention of working knots out of his shoulders and anywhere else that might need it. She knows how much of his upper body is used. She knows.  He feels her fingers press and rub against the sore spots loosening muscles and getting him to settle against the couch despite her weight on him.   
  
“Twelve or eighteen hour days.” There’s no point lying to her. Natasha would see right through it. She always has even in the letters, she’s noticed things. Not to mention the texts once he had started to text her but he doesn’t do much of that, he doesn’t have the time for it honestly. She rubs at another muscle and a groan escapes him again. That had been a really sore spot.

 

   “You need to be more careful. You know you’re going to wear yourself thin if you don’t rest.” Natasha says to him, fingers pressing into his skin. She moves her fingers being almost gentle but it gets the tension out of key points. The way that he’s relaxed it doesn’t happen often and she’s one of the few people that can manage it. He learns to settle into what she’s doing, a few low groans escaping him, nothing that she hasn’t heard from him before. The weight of things slipping past him, and he settles into a lax state, almost sleeping.   “Sleep you. You need it, I’m not going to stop.”   
  
She eases his muscles, uncoils the stress in them, and he falls under. He falls into a deep sleep and for a while he doesn’t need to think, he doesn’t need to at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long delay for a chapter due to the fact i was out of the country, hoping to write at least two more chapters tonight. mentions of sexual abuse in this chapter.

   The dream happens again. Even though he’s a peace. Even though it’s a better day. Even though he’s with Natasha. The dream happens. The dream happens of him falling. Falling and there’s this burning pain that’s white hot in his shoulder that makes him wake up with no breath on his lungs and sweating. And he jolts upwards from the couch, and pulls the blanket off of him, Natasha is upstairs he knows that, she’s sleeping. And he pads as silent as he can on his feet to the bathroom. He’s shaking, he’s trembling. And despite the sleep he looks like hell. He looks like literal hell, fingers turning on the water to splash at his face. Staring at his reflection in the mirror. And he repeats, he repeats to himself.   
  
_It was a dream Barnes. It’s not going to happen. You know your limits, you know your body, it won’t happen. You’re better than this. It’s just a dream. Just a nightmare. You won’t fall, you won’t break. You’re better than this._ He breathes out the cold water soothing his skin, bringing him back more to reality but his lungs still feel dry. Everything still feels dry in his throat. He settles into breathing; he settles into splashes water over himself.

Draws his hair back, settles himself back down. It’s early dawn he knows that much. The early eves of dawn, and he grabs his jacket, pulls it over him. Let’s himself walk outside into the cool air. The pack of smoke is a heavy weight in his bag considering how damaging it can be for someone that moves as much as he does. He draws the smokes from his bag, lights one outside. It’s an old habit stretching from years ago when he used to smoke now and then, not often just enough for himself.

It's the echoed silence that stretches, if he had to be frank with anyone, he didn’t want to go back. He wasn’t really ready to go back. James lets the cigarette linger between his fingertips, his eyes looking over the area around him. Natalia will notice eventually that he’s not inside not that it matters much honestly. He brushes his hair to the side, his nightmare still lingering, he hates the fact that the dreams are so vivid. They’re too real. They’ve always been too real. His fingers tug his strands of hair back, despite the cold he settles outside into the numbing weather. It’s normal considering the way that the Russian climates change.    
  
There’s that heart wrenching feeling in his bones from the dreams but there’s also that emptiness that comes with not being home. That feeling where you lie awake and can’t sleep because you love the people you’ve left.  It’s odd as much as he misses his family he does miss Zemo. It’s an odd weight because he doesn’t get attached to anyone on his team. He avoids the mere thought of ever getting attached to any of his teammates. Not to mention they all have in some form or another given sexual favors to their coach. James doesn’t really remember what he did, he kinds paused it from his memory, either that or his mind blacked it out. It could also explain why he falls into place at Natasha’s side so easily. Nothing in their contact has ever been forced, it’s just been a stress reliever for both of them.   
  
   A hand on his shoulder makes him jump out of his skin for a moment, nearly dropping his cigarette. “You know; Ivan would be giving you so much hell for that.” She mutters to him; she looks like she just came out of her own bed. Barely having done much to her hair and she’s dressed light compared to how she was earlier. “You just going to spend a week here or are you going to see your parents?” She mutters to him, her eyes staring out in the open.   
  
     “I haven’t decided yet. Part of me doesn’t want to. I know ma will give me hell, considering how I vanished into thin air.” He shoots her a look, watching the way his air makes small puffs in the cold. He wants to go home but at the same time he knows he’s not going to want to go back to training his body if he ends up seeing Rebecca and his parents.  “I just, it’s been so long you know, I mean do you think they even missed me?” He mutters to her, while he puts out his smoke.   
  
“James, you know that they do.”   
  
   “I stopped writing so many letters, Nat. Alexander, he doesn’t care if we’re happy. Only if we present scores.”  


“I know, I could tell by your letters.”   
  
“You just know me too well. I know there was a huge gap between the last two.”  James says to her, he’s cold but it’s nothing that he can’t handle outside. “Did you ever worry?” He says to her, his eyes looking right at hers.   
  
“Not always, I learned to take what I had. Ivan was a little concerned for me sometimes, he could tell I was shaken by some of your letters.” He doesn’t mention that he left out the sexual abuse. He doesn’t mention that he’s blackened out from doing favors, from someone touching him. From just, the way that he gets shit from his couch. It’s not pretty at all. Not at all.   
  
   “Ivan sounds like a better coach. Honestly, I’m glad you stuck with him. They add anyone new to your team?” He asks her, considering they’re all the same team when they go into the Olympics. Just broken off into sets and pairs for certain events.

“Same lineup as far as the team is concerned, the last new additions were about the time that you joined, nothing new honestly. I mean at least on our squad. Ivan says that Alexander got a few new guys for your little group. Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins.” She’s asking him about his group.    
  
“Yeah, Rumlow was about a year, or almost two years ago, he got in a year after I had gotten in after Zemo had seen what I could do. He told Alexander to watch me when I had just been taking classes and it spurred into him training me. Brock’s not overly fond of people honestly, at least if you get hirer scores than him. He won’t talk much about his family.”  James mutters to her, staring at the dawn sky that’s beginning to rise.   
  
   “He seems like a dick from what the press has said about him with you guys and your nationals.”   
  
“Yeah, he pretty much is an asshole, or it could just be that fragile masculinity that he tries to hide. I mean half the guys in our group are gay. I’m surprised that Alexander hasn’t reported it yet or something.” He pauses for a moment. “Then again, it’s blackmail.” He shrugs when he sees that look in her eyes at those words. He thinks nothing of it.    
  
  “That sounds real healthy.” Her tone is dry, really dry.

 

“You knew that man was corrupt. But he’s still is my best shot of winning gold, you know that”-  
  
“It doesn’t mean that you should resort to unhealthy measures.” She mutters with a sour tone. “I mean. That’s like condemning yourself if you actually get injured or something James.”

 

“That won’t happen.”

 

And the conversation dies, for a while. At least for him.


End file.
